


(479)

by QuietUptown



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, But that would ruin the surprise, Heavy Angst, I could tag a lot more stuff, I mean it's set in a graveyard what did you expect, M/M, Memory Loss, Mentions of Death, So instead you get this rambling mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9603146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietUptown/pseuds/QuietUptown
Summary: “Yuuri” the sound was quieter than a whisper, had been almost overpowered by the whistling of the wind. But Yuuri heard it and, as his head snapped up, his eyes met with the dull blue ones.Unexpectedly his heart started beating furiously inside of his chest, his limbs going numb and his head light.The man was standing still, almost like he had been frozen in time, but his hands betrayed him, shaking furiously at his sides.He looked like he had seen a ghost.[the title makes sense, I swear, you just need to read the story to find out how]





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm usually a pretty happy person, I swear.
> 
> It's just that I had this idea the other day and for some reason I could not get it out of my head, no matter how hard I tried, so here we are.
> 
> In case, ~~for some reason~~ , you liked this /thing/ [here is a link to my multi-chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9543902/chapters/21580601), that is **a lot** less sad.
> 
> And if you feel like it, here's the link to my [yoi sideblog](https://pettyuri.tumblr.com/). Feel free to insult me for this mess or even ask me questions or idk.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> **WARNING: MENTIONS OF DEATH**  
> 

In his life, he had only visited two cemeteries. One had been Hasetsu’s, he had grown accustomed to it, its calming silence and the slight breeze that constantly moved between the gravestones. From the hill that it was built upon, you could actually admire half of the city and, if you squinted really hard, you could spot where the sea and the sky met and the different shades of blue mixed, forming a unique sight.

The second one had been Tokyo’s. It had been way less appeasing, with its gravestones towering over his small frame (he had been eight at the time) and with each stone so near the other that one could not even squeeze an arm between. The cemetery had also been more crowded, the calming silence that had comforted him in Hasetsu had now turned into a whisper. A haunting, scary, whisper. A whisper that filled the air, that surrounded him, that made his legs shake with fear and brought tears to his eyes. He had run out of the place, his chubby legs straining as he turned and avoided the graves, his eyes fixated to the iron gates at the entrance.

From that moment on, Yuuri Katsuki had been terrified of cemeteries.

His fear had accompanied him throughout his life, he had avoided graveyards ever since then, so no wonder that when he found himself inside one, with no recollection of how he had gotten there whatsoever, his first instinct had been to scream, at the top of his lungs, until his throat had hurt.

His voice echoed all around him, his scream muffled by the wind. It was almost as if the hills around him were answering his cries. Then silence. 

With shaking hands, Yuuri adjusted the glasses that had slid down the bridge of his nose, and he looked around warily. He spotted a couple of people, and he grimaced as he realized that he had just disturbed and disrespected everyone in a sacred place. His cheeks tinted red as a feeling of shame pooled in his stomach, he debated whether it would be proper to go and apologize, but everyone seemed to be ignoring him so instead he slowly moved away, deciding that cowering would be better than further humiliating himself.

He dodged a few tombs as he made his way towards what he believed would be the exit, embarrassment and guilt mixing together, forming a haunting cocktail of anxiety. To distract himself from his toxic thoughts he drifted to analyzing the plausible possibilities concerning the reason why he had found himself, disoriented and weary, in a graveyard.

 _I must be drunk,_ he reasoned with himself. But his vision wasn’t blurry and his head wasn’t hurting and he couldn’t taste the familiar bitter feeling on his tongue or even feel the burning sensation in his throat.

Yuuri did have a headache, though. His head was hurting like he had been crying for hours or, perhaps, like he had a hangover. _I’m hungover then_ , he concluded and, on second thought, it perfectly made sense. He exhaled a sigh of relief, and even chuckled slightly as he tried to recall what had possibly been the wildest night in his life. But he couldn’t. Perhaps he had drunk so much that he couldn’t even bring himself to remember anything? Another chuckle.

He had always been a lightweight, struggling to hold his cool whenever he would drink something, but he had never done something so wild. Sure, back in Detroit with˗

Yuuri stopped in his tracks, eyes squinting, eyebrows drawing together. He couldn’t remember his name. He raked his brain in search of it. Nothing.

The _boy’s_ face was still present in his mind, admittedly a little blurry, but still present. Yuuri could still make out the color of his skin, his dark hair, his constant smile and the shape of his eyes, but no matter how hard he tried and how tight he closed his eyes to envision him better, Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to remember his name.

Defeated, he opened his eyes and tried to take a few deep breaths in, the clear and fresh air calming him down immediately.

“This is the worst hangover in the history of hangovers” he muttered as he willed his shaking legs to move, his body had gone back to the verge of panic, and his tired limbs were threatening to give in.

Yuuri took a look around, for the first time since he had started walking, and realized that the entrance gate was nowhere to be seen, instead, his legs had taken him to the edge of the hill.

From where he was standing he could actually see a part of Hasetsu, right below him. The sun was projecting a crimson light over the houses, the streets covered in shadows. Yuuri wondered what time it was. Was it sunrise? Sunset? How long had he been asleep?

He patted his trousers’ pockets searching for his phone, it wasn’t there. He sighed, the air leaving his body condensing in front of him in a tiny cloud. Yuuri scanned the view one last time, hoping he could find some answers in the silent city beneath him.

Turning his back, he took a few steps to further the distance between the cliff and himself, his feet airy kicking each and every pebble they would find, the little rocks rolling on the ground making grating sounds. Someone in his family (maybe his sister? Yuuri couldn’t remember) used to constantly scold him for it, their tone annoyed, but he could remember a slight hint of a smile on their lips.

“I’m going back to St. Petersburg” he stopped dead in his tracks, the pebble he was meant to kick stuck underneath his shoe, Yuuri couldn’t see _him_ , a tree hiding his figure, but a vague sense of familiarity washed over him. Yuuri would have sworn to have never heard that voice, but his heart seemed to be screaming otherwise. He could not move, frozen on the spot. Waiting.

“I-” the voice hesitated, a halt in his tone. Then a sob, quiet, almost imperceptible, but it was there and Yuuri _felt_ it. Curious, he moved closer, his feet light on the gravel, carefully tiptoeing his way around the tree.

The man had his back turned to him, his dark clothes contrasting with his white, extremely pale, skin and with his hair, a fair shade of silver that still shined in the gloomy light of the graveyard (it was definitely approaching nighttime, Yuuri thought).

The silver haired man, was sitting cross-legged on the ground, something unusual for a Japanese cemetery, but then again, the man himself was an unusual sight to behold in a Japanese cemetery.

The man exclaimed something in a language that Yuuri couldn’t pinpoint, it sounded foreign, but for some reason the words rang through his brain and a comforting feeling spread inside of him. Yuuri’s eyes filled with tears that he quickly blinked away, there was _no_ reason for him to cry. The man was a stranger and so was his language. They shared no connection whatsoever.

Yuuri rapidly turned his attention back to the man, he was now standing up, his voice whispering to the wind. His accent was sweet and melancholic. When he turned around, Yuuri finally caught sight of his face.

His breath hitched in his throat as he stared briefly at the man.

His face was paler than the rest of his body, the skin almost transparent. Dark circles could be seen even in the, constantly, darkening light. His blue eyes were lifeless, a dull light blue that was cold and spiritless, they flickered around the graveyard one last time, almost desperately searching for _something_ , then they settled on the gravel beneath him.

As the man moved, Yuuri felt drawn to him, his feet unconsciously following him. It was almost as if a rope connected them, with each step the man took, Yuuri took one as well, whenever the man would stop to let a single silent sob wreck his body, Yuuri would too, his heart painfully clenching in his chest.

Yuuri had always hated hearing about ghost stories, a member of his family (his grandma, possibly?) would always recount them to him, she would speak of the sadness, the distress and the heartache. And Yuuri, as the rational kid that he was, had always brushed them off as simple stories, but as he stood behind the pale, ghost-like, man in front of him, he couldn’t help but wonder if˗

“Yuuri” the sound was quieter than a whisper, had been almost overpowered by the whistling of the wind. But Yuuri heard it and, as his head snapped up with confusion, his eyes met with the dull blue ones.

Unexpectedly his heart started beating furiously inside of his chest, his limbs going numb and his head light.

The man was standing still, almost like he had been frozen in time, but his hands betrayed him, shaking furiously at his sides.

He looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Yuuri” he said, this time a little louder, voice shaking in the slightest. He took a few careful steps towards him, panic settling inside Yuuri.

“How do you know my name?” now it was his time to whisper, voice sounding hoarse. The man abruptly stopped, almost as if he had been struck by lightning.

“You don’t remember me?” his tone sounded distorted, broken and pained at the same time, Yuuri confusedly shook his head from side to side then instantly regretted it as he stared at the man’s expression morph into pure agony.

“I-” he gasped, but his voice choked in his throat resulting in a weak wail, tears were felling in his eyes as he struggled to held them in.

Yuuri unconsciously walked closer to him, his ears ringing loudly, he felt detached from his own body as he moved.

His hand unwittingly found the man’s, their fingers lacing perfectly, Yuuri’s golden ring brushing against the man’s weirdly similar one.

And it felt like home.

And it felt like unconditional love.

Cold tears landed right on the two rings, but they weren’t the man’s. Yuuri blinked, desperately trying to halt them, but the more he willed himself to stop, the more they flowed, like a broken dam.

He felt the hand of the silver haired man wrap around his waist, the touch comforting and known. And with his free hand he did the same, desperately grabbing his beige trench coat. Words flooded Yuuri’s brain, sentences with no context but with meaning, they whirled inside of his mind like a hurricane.

He took a step back, their right hands still intertwined and his left one still gripping his coat, they stared into each other’s eyes, both of their cheeks red and lined with, still flowing, tears.

“Victor” he whispered back and the man in front of him smiled sadly, his head giving a slight nod. They came to an unspoken understanding.

And Yuuri knew. He finally _knew_.

Confusion had been swept away, replaced with hurt and poignancy.

They didn’t need to speak, because no words wouldn’t be enough. Instead they stared into each other’s eyes _one last time_.

Victor took a step back too, their arms now lightly stretched, shaking fingers still tangled together, left hands leaving the respective bodies.

“Я люблю тебя всей душой” the sentence rang in Yuuri’s ears as their hands detached, the meaning perfectly known now.

They both took a step back in unison, furthering the distance between themselves.

Then another one, each stride breaking a piece of Yuuri’s heart. Once Victor’s face had almost disappeared in the, now almost completely dark, graveyard. Yuuri shouted a pained “愛しています”.

And he stood there for a while, hoping for something, his chest hurting like it had never before. Not even his worst fall while ice skating could compare. This one was ongoing and persistent and Yuuri knew that nothing would stop it. Not even time.

And with Victor’s face burned in the back of his mind, he took a final step backwards, retreating behind some graves.

 

 

He wandered through the cemetery, his legs shaking, sobs echoing in the silence around him. It was as if the hill was mourning with him. As if the sky and the earth were a party to his suffering.

After a while he found it.

The stone was polished to the point that it could reflect the last specks of reddish sun, flowers were placed at the base, the prettiest blue irises Yuuri had ever seen. Next to them stood a plushy of a brown poodle, it had been placed with care in a sitting position, slightly leaning on the flower’s vase for support.

Then his eyes drifted upwards as he scanned the four names engraved in the granite. Three of them in a bright red color.

The last one had been stripped recently of it, now sharing the same grey color of the stone itself.

Yuuri stared at his own name, the carvings of a harsh gray.

He turned his back to it, sat down on the gravel, in the exact spot Victor has sat mere hours before, and stared at the sky, stared at the view of his Hasetsu.

And waited.

 

_(479)_

_Because I could not stop for Death –_

_He kindly stopped for me –_

_The Carriage held but just Ourselves –_

_And Immortality._

_-Emily Dickinson, 1890_

**Author's Note:**

> So.... now that you actually read this....  
> LET ME EXPLAIN.  
> Death has always frightened me and not in a 'oh my god i don't want to die' type of way, but, rather in a 'i don't want the people around me to die' so i thought: why not torture myself and write about it?  
> After all, writing is a form of therapy and is completely free yay (like physical and mental healthcare in my country, but i'm too lazy to get an appointement so....)  
> ANYWAYS, in my beginning-notes i've left the links to my other fanfiction and my yoi sideblog, check them out if you want.  
> English is not my first language so I'm sorry for the enventual mistake you might have seen. Please point them out to me, so I can improve.  
> Thanks so much for reading (leave me a comment if you liked this)  
> Love you,  
> Nicole.


End file.
